


Not Only For Tenderness, But Also For Flavor

by RedPlush



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood Play, Bloodplay, Bottom Will Graham, Can you hear how he says "Will"?, Control, Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Feels, Fellatio, Finger Sucking, Good Boy, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter comes like a volcano, Hannibal Lecter has (almost) no feelings, Hannibal Lecter in control, Hannibal is so composed, Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I love them like this, Licking, M/M, Mouth Fucking, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porn with Porn, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Sad Will Graham, Shameless Smut, Smut, Someone Helps Will Graham, Top Hannibal, Will Graham - Freeform, Will Graham is a mess, Will Graham on his knees, a bit of it, at least, cut, it's gorgeous, just porn here, of a sort, some feelings, surgical blade, thumb sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPlush/pseuds/RedPlush
Summary: Will needs comfort. Hannibal will do it roughly.
Nothing but porn here. With a few feels, because Will is a mess, and they need each other.





	Not Only For Tenderness, But Also For Flavor

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this story were written while listening to: 
> 
> [NBC Hannibal Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWTVKLUtnQ4) 
> 
> [Me and the Devil (Soap & Skin)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czSLoGpBd7I) 
> 
> [Aria Da Capo (Johann Sebastian Bach)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJmBNdiBuwc)

"Anything but this. Hannibal, please make me feel anything but this."

Will was at his worst. Agitated, overwhelmed, a sickly dead electricity coursing through his body, making breathing unbearable, being unbearable, everything but what Hannibal could do to him was unbearable.

"Please. I need this. I need you. Make it stop. Make me feel something else."

Hannibal preferred not to break his cool veneer, but he could smell desperation, and nothing made him more hungry. His cock stirred at the keening of Will's voice. He was most delicious when he was this close to the edge.

"Walk over to the couch, Will. Sit down. Let me look at you."

Hannibal liked to study his meal, salivate over it before digging in.

Will went to the couch, sat stiffly, closed his eyes. His pulse was loud in his ears. Hannibal had a way of possessing him so completely, so deeply and painfully, of scrubbing out all the ugliness and pain behind Will's eyes. Hannibal assumed the shape of a man filled with dark and swarming flies, and Will opened wide to let him in. It was the only way he could feel right again.

"Will, open your eyes. Look at me."

Will looked at Hannibal's dark and thoughtful eyes, admired the stillness in his face, the set of his jaw.

"Open your mouth for me, Will."

Will opened his mouth with a whimper. His tongue was red and wet and beckoned to Hannibal, who crossed the room and, in a quick movement, slid two fingers into Will's mouth, as far down his throat as he could. Will gagged, recovered, gagged again. Hannibal held his fingers there, persistent and patient, pulsing slightly against his tongue. They tasted savory and smoky. He'd been carving meat.

"Suck my fingers, Will."

He did as he was told, he always did. Hannibal pulled back a bit, rested his fingers more shallowly in Will's mouth so he could work his tongue around them. Will moaned a sigh and squeezed his mouth in a tight O, applying enough suction to show how grateful he was, how much he loved the feeling of being filled like this, filled any way Hannibal deigned to. It wasn't about sex for him. It was about possession, saying _You're mine._

Will hollowed his cheeks, sucked hard, looked up at Hannibal with wet eyes that said more, please. And Hannibal obliged, adding another finger, pushing deeper again. Three fingers now, slick and sliding, and Will moaned again, more raggedly, more like a choke.

"You do this so nicely, Will. I can tell that you enjoy it. Your mouth feels good, squeezing hot and wet around my fingers."

Will felt electricity surging through him, the warm feeling that came from being seen by Hannibal, being owned by him. The buzzing in his brain was quieting, replaced by hunger for more of Hannibal. His mouth. His skin. Every hot part of him. He reached out, but Hannibal stopped him, a firm hand around his wrist.

"Not yet, Will. In due time. First, let me look at you more closely."

Hannibal withdrew his wet fingers, put them under Will's chin, pushing his mouth shut. He dried his hand slowly on a neatly pressed handkerchief, never taking his eyes off of Will. His breath was even and deep, controlled. Will's was quick and uneven, his heart pounding, his tongue active in his mouth, seeking a task, eager to be set to work. He felt jolts under his skin as he waited and waited. It was too long to wait for Hannibal's touch. He ran his hands through his hair, adjusted his glasses, busied his hands with smoothing his shirt. Hannibal just watched him, unmoving.

Finally, he reached down and pulled a blade from the low table next to them. A curved surgical scalpel, small and beautiful, sharp enough to inflict serious damage, tiny enough for precision and control.

"Show me your wrist, Will."

He turned his wrist up, presented it to Hannibal. It was smooth and white, unmarked. He was trembling, not with fear, but anticipation. He needed this. He needed release. He needed...

"Hannibal."

It was the first word Will had uttered in a while, and the desperation in his voice urged Hannibal on. With sure movements, he stroked the length of Will's inner arm, pressed a fingertip where he intended to strike, and then bent and followed with a quick swipe of his tongue, tasting salt. He locked eyes with Will and slashed the blade across his skin.

Hannibal didn't break eye contact. He watched for the dilation of Will's pupils that signaled the release of adrenaline. That black pooling in his eyes made Hannibal ache in the back of his throat, made him feel urgent, made him want to strike, snake-like. He pulled Will's arm to his mouth, latched on where his slit skin bloomed red. His fingers circled Will's wrist and squeezed tight, a sort of tourniquet at one end. His other hand found Will's mouth again, hooked a thumb inside and pulled him open, tongue pressed flat, fingers curled under his chin. He tongued the fresh cut rhythmically, punctuating even strokes with jerks of Will's jaw into ever more unhinged arrangements.

Their bodies listed together, each thrilling to his own private music. Will felt a fullness at the front of Hannibal's pants. He'd removed his tie, but still wore his vest. His shirtsleeves were turned up, which made Will crazy with desire. His arms looked beautiful, muscled and veiny. Will wanted to suck and bite them.

The sucking at his throbbing arm anchored him in his body. If it weren't for Hannibal's mouth there, his thumb on Will's tongue, he might be taken away by the buzzing in his chest, the crawling feeling under his skin. Only being used like this kept him from from spinning out. He wanted more.

He struggled to close his mouth around Hannibal's thumb, to suck, to nurse at the only skin he could get to, but Hannibal kept pulling down, wrenching his mouth open. He licked Will so sweetly, so gently at the slit in his arm that still coursed sticky blood.

All Will could do was continue to moan, raw sounds deep in his throat. He was coming undone, unraveling for this man who held him together. Hannibal was exquisitely composed in contrast. Will was a slavering, bleeding beast. Hannibal was a cool marble statue.

Finally, Hannibal withdrew his tongue, studying the smeared blood. He didn't even turn to look at Will's face when he spoke.

"I'm going to let you touch me, Will. I'm going to let you take me in your mouth."

The calm, even way Hannibal spoke belied his intention. Will felt a wave that began in his thighs, flushed up through his cock, crested in his throat. His mouth watered. He longed for something other than the thumb in his mouth. He needed more, needed to be filled.

Hannibal finally turned to him, stared into his eyes, daring him to speak or move. Will stared back, eyes watering, trying not to blink, not to move, not to do anything that would be less than perfect and pleasing. Hannibal continued to stare down at him and slowly withdrew his thumb, releasing his jaw. The pad of his thumb sliding over Will's tongue was simultaneously silky and rough, and Will closed his mouth around it for one final suck.

Hannibal took his time again drying his hand, making everything neat for the next course. When he was done, he gave Will a small nod.

Will fell to his knees with a groan and pushed his face against the front of Hannibal's beautifully pressed pants. He inhaled deeply, getting hints of smoke, musk, and something metallic. Hannibal always smelled complicated, unknowable, dangerous. Will huffed deep breaths against Hannibal, daring to slide his hands around his thighs, pull him closer. Time stopped for just a moment, a perfect moment, until Hannibal grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away.

He looked nowhere, straight ahead, to the empty room beyond. His eyes were dark but Will thought he saw his mouth twitch slightly. Those beautiful, capable lips. Will longed to kiss them.

Hannibal finally unzipped his pants in one fluid move, and his cock bobbed up, flushed and full. The taste of Will's blood had gotten him hard.

Will whimpered but sat still. He knew he had to wait to take Hannibal's orders. But he salivated, his tongue working in his mouth, already anticipating being pressed into work.

"Open," Hannibal finally said.

Ah, bliss. Will kneeled upright, opened his already-aching mouth, and waited.

. . .

Will waited, and waited. Time stretched on and on. His mouth watered, saliva ran down his chin, his jaw got even more sore. But he waited.

Hannibal stood, statue-still, hands loose by his sides, still managing to look masterful and in control despite his now leaking cock jutting obscenely out of his pants.

After infinite minutes, silent, endless, painful minutes, he looked again at Will, and reached down, tracing his lips with a finger. He seemed reverent, almost sad.

"Beautiful boy," he said. And with that, he put his hands on Will's head, pulled his hips away, then thrust forward and shoved his cock into Will's mouth so fast, so hard, so deep that Will saw stars.

Hannibal stayed there, his cock pushed to the back of Will's throat, his hands holding Will in place. They made a perfect profane sculpture. Will gagged deeply but tried to remain still. He could take it, could take more, could take it all.

Hannibal finally began to move, pumping his hips slowly, fucking into Will's mouth, still every bit in control. Will moaned obscenely, dug his fingers into Hannibal's thighs, tried to keep his jaw relaxed as he tightened his lips, closing them hungrily around Hannibal's cock. He loved the hot slide of skin through his lips, over his tongue. Every thrust gave evidence of Hannibal's desire. Will wanted to speak, wanted to rhapsodize about how delicious Hannibal tasted, how much he loved sucking him, tasting him, taking him, being filled, but his mouth was otherwise engaged.

Instead, he looked up at Hannibal with wet eyes and choked himself eagerly on his hot, full cock.

Hannibal had been far away, strains of Bach playing in his head, but the music faded as he was drawn back to his body by Will's wet mouth. He looked down at Will's sweet, eager face, his wide, teary eyes. This beautiful boy. He was so lost and confused, in so much pain. Hannibal wanted to help him, but he only knew how to do it in these rough ways.

Will was sucking, gagging, making obscene sounds. Hannibal's hips responded, growing more insistent.

"Good boy, Will. You are so good."

At those words, the words he needed to hear, brimming tears escaped Will's eyes and ran down his cheeks. Hannibal released his grip on Will's head and stilled himself for a moment to wipe the tears away, licking them from his fingertips. They were salty and a little tangy, like turmeric root.

And then, they changed, shifted, they melted and dissolved. They fell into each other even more fully. Hannibal resumed his pumping, fucking Will's mouth, holding Will's head and using him like a hole, a beloved vessel, a fucktoy, a desired love. Will disappeared into himself, became just a wet place for Hannibal to unfurl. It became harder to tell the difference between his tongue and Hannibal's cock, it seemed that wet slide had always been there, the sucking had always been there. He heard a far away sound and realized it was himself, uttering a constant low moan, like a sick man, like a dying man taking water, taking a cure, taking the only thing that kept him going. His moan stuttered in time to Hannibal's rhythmic fucking, together they made a choking dark beast.

Hannibal was always quiet, almost silent, but Will's blood, his tears, his moaning, his wet and willing mouth, all of it was pushing him over the edge. He felt giddy heat rising into his belly, flushing through his thighs. His desire overwhelmed him. He would have devoured Will if he could. He licked his lips, and his mouth fell open. His eyes fluttered. Something dark and endless coiled inside him, ready to spring.

"Fuck yes," he breathed, uncharacteristically unhinged, and with that, he began to unload in Will's mouth. He always came quietly but hard, volumes of hot cum flowing into Will's mouth almost more quickly than he could handle. But Will sucked and sucked, hanging on to Hannibal, swallowing, gasping, gulping, taking it all. He felt the hot pulses in the back of his throat, heat in his mouth, the stiffening of Hannibal's thighs, the heat in his own face, his hands, he was hot everywhere. He realized he was wet all over, sweating and bloody. The slash on his harm had begun to pulse blood again.

Hannibal finished with a quiet gasp and remained still, and Will kept suckling, still hungry, still eager, trance-like in his fixation.

. . .

Hannibal finally pulled away, releasing Will gently and tucking himself away, again composed.

Will collapsed, the full force of his desire and exhaustion and pain taking him down to the ground.

Hannibal gathered Will up and lifted him to the couch. He stroked wet tendrils of hair from Will's forehead, wiped the remnants of tears from his eyes, passed his thumb gently over Will's red lips. So many words were unsaid, but Hannibal's hands were enough now. He took Will's arm and inspected the cut, still open and raw, still bleeding. He would need clean and suture it properly. His lips twitched.

Hannibal pulled Will's arm to his mouth and ran a tentative tongue over the wound. Will was too far gone to wince, but Hannibal knew that it was delicate, painful to the touch. He deepened his kiss, giving a few more long licks, and then closed his lips around the cut, sucking tenderly at first, then more deeply. He hummed with pleasure and they remained like that as the room grew dark around them, turned from blue to black.


End file.
